


Shall We Play a Game

by K___Kelly



Series: The Creation of Caleb Widogast [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Blood and Torture, Blumentrio, Caleb Widogast's Backstory, Cutting, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Emetophobia, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi, Seriously though this shit is dark, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, Triggers, Vomiting, Warning: Trent Ikithon, can be read as shipping Astrid and Caleb but shipping isn't the main focus, they didn't always want to be executioners, they didn't want to hurt each other, this is why my hobo wizard has so many problems you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K___Kelly/pseuds/K___Kelly
Summary: The children of Blumenthal were not always cold-blooded executioners.  They had to be taught cruelty, they learned it, first-hand and side-by-side.
Relationships: Astrid & Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Astrid & Eodwulf & Caleb Widogast, Astrid/Caleb Widogast
Series: The Creation of Caleb Widogast [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609750
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There will be scenes that could be triggers for cutting I will mark the chapters with warnings as needed 
> 
> My brain was already fucked up way before quarantine so here have this
> 
> Also I don't know what Astrid's last name is but for the purposes of this fic it is Tanzer which is close to German for dancer

Trent Ikithon surveyed the three students he had carefully taken under his tutelage. So far, even with significant pressure and grueling studies these three were still excelling. Quick minds, quick fingers, but such naïve and childish faces. Such wide eyes and eager minds. Easy to break down and perfect to mold. After a year of intense studies at the academy he determines that the children from Blumenthal should begin the next stage of their training. He takes them to his private estate and without showing them to their rooms or allowing them to rest or put away their few possessions, he marches them downstairs to the lowest level of the largest tower. 

“Before we begin your training I would like to be sure I know where each of you stand.”

Astrid blurts out. “A test?”

His eyes narrow slightly but he smiles at her. “Not quite Miss Beck, closer to an evaluation, but it will play out like a game more than anything. It will help us all to get to know each other much better.”

All three of them exchange looks of confusion with each other and Bren frowns at the mention of a game. “What kind of game exa-?

“Enough questions Miss Tanzer, there will be time for that later.” Ikithon cuts her off sharply without raising his voice or dropping his rare smile. 

Astrid murmurs her assent bowing her head apologetically. Eodwulf, puts down his small travel bag and crosses his arms awaiting instructions. Bren is the only one whose eyes do not leave Ikithon for a second. All four of them are standing in a hallway made entirely of stone. It is dimly lit with magical sconces, although the magic source of light does not provide any warmth to combat the growing chill and inherent dampness of the tower’s basement. “Only two of you will play at a time, one of you will be charged with hiding information and the other will be tasked with seeking out the information by any means necessary, the game goes on until someone loses, then you will switch roles and each will continue until I am satisfied with the results. Is that clearly understood?”

They respond obediently in unison, but Bren is still staring intently at Trent, searching in vain for an explanation for this bizarre exercise. 

“Is there a problem Mr. Ermendrud?”

Bren steps forward, standing tall, blue eyes flashing with conviction and determination. “Yes, Master Ikithon I mean no disrespect sir, but this exercise as you have described seems like it will be a waste of time, time that could be spent with our studies. Wouldn’t a test be more efficient?”

Eodwulf elbows Bren but he ignores him. This has always been their dynamic, Astrid the curious, Eodwulf the steady, and Bren the determined. Astrid almost smiles, she expects nothing less from Bren, he’s the only person she’s ever known who can get himself into trouble for doing too much instead of too little. He’ll follow all the instructions to the letter, but then he’ll try to somehow make whatever it is better, faster, stronger, clearer, more efficient, and that's where things go wrong. Half the teachers at the Soltryce Academy admire Bren for his intelligence as well as his ambition and the other half despise him for unintentionally making fools out of them in front of their students. Somehow, he always ends up with the highest marks and the most disciplinary action. Bren would always rather be right and be punished than be wrong and be rewarded. For a moment she sees a hint of surprise and maybe pride in Master Ikithon’s expression, but the way his smile suddenly tightens before he responds makes her suddenly more aware of the cold dampness in the hall.

“If that is what you think Mr. Ermendrud perhaps you would like to volunteer to test its effectiveness?” It’s phrased like a question, but his tone heavily implies that it is an order. Bren nods his assent. Master Ikithon catches Astrid surveying Bren and locks on to her as well. “Miss Beck I believe you will join him.”

“Yes, of course Master Ikithon.”

He clamps a hand down on each of their shoulders leading them further down the hall to a door with rusted hinges and a heavy bar across the front. As they pass each sconce in the hall it flickers out leaving Eodwulf standing alone in the pitch-black hallway with the abandoned travel bags and a growing sense of dread in his stomach. Master Ikithon opens the door with a practiced gesture and a muttered word as he walks his two students into a small unassuming room with a roughly hewn wooden desk a few chairs and another door on the opposite side.

“Mr. Ermendrud, go and seat yourself in the adjoining chamber Miss Beck and I shall be with you shortly.”

He nods wordlessly and makes his away quickly across the small room to the door, There is another heavy wooden bar on the ground nearby just like the other. In fact, the doors are almost identical except for a small barred window near the top of the second one. Astrid watches Bren step through the door and immediately turns her attention back towards Master Ikithon. He seats himself in one of the chairs, but she remains standing, hands clasped behind her back at full attention. 

“Miss Beck your task is to procure the names of three persons who have associated with traitors to the Empire and therefore are traitors themselves. They must be brought to justice before their dangerous ideas are allowed to spread and infect the nation. You will obtain these names from Mr. Ermendrud using whatever means are necessary. If you complete your objective the game is over and you are the victor if you give up or it is otherwise impossible for you to obtain the names you will lose and I will remember who won and who lost. The victor will have the privilege of choosing the next set of players. The game will not end until someone has won and I am satisfied with the results. Do you understand me fully Miss Beck?”

“Yes, Master Ikithon.”

He walks over to her and gently tilts her chin up toward him until he can clearly see her eyes, dark brown and alight with anticipation. “Very good, wait here and prepare your strategy while I give Mr. Ermendrud his instructions.”

When Bren enters the adjoining room, the first thing he notices is that it is very dark, and the only light source is a single dim globe hanging a few feet above a large, heavy, iron chair. There is nowhere else in the room to sit and for a moment he is tempted to throw up dancing lights to get a better look at his surroundings, but he steels himself and obediently makes his way to the chair and sits down. It is cold and he can feel the icy metal cut through his clothes the minute he touches it. He sees straps and buckles hanging from the armrests on either side of him and the sight makes him uneasy. He doesn’t sit all the way back, preferring to keep both feet firmly on the ground. He continues to squint into the darkness trying desperately to make out any shapes or to determine the size of the room. He startles when the door suddenly opens and a small amount of light leaks in. Now he can see that there is a table on his right side with a sheet over it and a set of hooks on the wall immediately to his left. Most of the hooks are empty, but a few have chains and heavy manacles hanging from them and scraping the floor no... the drain beneath them. He sits up straighter, and desperately tries to force down the bile that is building in the back of his throat. Trent walks in the room and wordlessly steps up to him placing a hand firmly on his chest. Still smiling, he pushes him back until Bren is flush against the cold iron and his feet are barely touching the ground. He doesn’t step back though, instead Master Ikithon reaches behind the chair pulling out a thick leather strap that Bren hadn’t noticed until now and he lays it across the boy's chest and shoulders before securing it to the back of the chair

“M-Master Ikithon wh-“

He yanks down harshly tightening the strap and causing Bren to gasp at the sudden discomfort.“I am giving you three names which you must remember exactly, and they will not make it past your lips no matter the circumstances.”

He pulls Bren’s right arm out of his lap and begins binding it to the arm of the chair at the elbow and the wrist.

“Friedrich Hussel”

He pins his left arm in same way and reaches around for a strap to secure across his waist.

“Eileen Drychen”

Trent bends over enough to reach the leather buckles that are trailing beneath the chair and to wrap them firmly around both of Bren’s legs until he is completely tied down to the chair and unable to squirm without having the tight leather straps bite through thin clothing into small bones and sensitive skin. 

“Karl Ordein”

He pauses, watching Bren as he struggles to control his growing panic and winces whenever he pulls too hard against the bonds. “You will recall these names later whenever you are asked. You are not to convey them to Miss Beck in any way. If you relinquish any part of the names to Miss Beck you will lose, if Miss Beck obtains the full set of names from you she will win. I will take careful note of who wins and who loses, and I will not forget. The victor will choose who plays next do you understand me Bren?” 

Right now, Bren’s entire will and consciousness is bent on keeping himself somewhat calm and trying to prevent himself from thrashing painfully against his restraints out of pure panic and confusion. “I-I understand but Master...”

Trent grabs his student by the jaw and forces him to look up at the light hanging above him, which practically blinds him compared to the surrounding darkness. “You wanted a test did you not Bren?”

He swallows the bile down again and immediately closes his eyes against the light, he can feel himself trembling and twitching against the bonds. “I-I y-yes I did but not...”

Trent releases him and steps out of Bren’s limited range of vision his voice comes through the darkness cutting off Bren's feeble protest sharply. “Then do not fail it.”

The light above him goes out and Bren hears the door close softly behind him. He grits his teeth against the urge to cry and waits for what comes next. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: For imagery that involves cutting (but not self-harm) be safe!

“I have given Mr. Ermendrud his instructions, you may proceed to complete your objective Miss Beck however you deem it necessary. However, I would strongly suggest that you leave Mr. Ermendrud as he is. His positioning has been chosen with your best interests in mind.”

Astrid nods and walks over to door, which is still unbarred, although the small amount of light she saw coming from it before is now gone. She steps in and the door immediately closes behind her. She hears the dull thunk of the bar being set in front of the door.

**_The game will not end until someone has won, and I am satisfied with the results._ **

The sudden noise prompts a sharp inhale from someone else which she assumes is Bren. “Bren? Are you there? I’m going to put up some lights if that’s alright?” 

There is no response so Astrid quickly draws out the somatic for her dancing lights and illuminates the room. She gasps when she sees Bren tied down to a chair in the center of the room. His head is down and he’s shaking. She wants to ask if he’s alright, if he needs help if he knows what’s going on, but she stops herself. Instead she looks around, and sees the hooks and chains, she pulls back the sheet and sees a neat row of scalpels, knives, and barbed needles conveniently at her disposal. She isn’t stupid it’s clear what she is supposed to do here, but she really hopes she won’t have to do it. Astrid walks toward the chair and stands in front of Bren, but he refuses to look at her. “Bren? Bren please? Please don’t...don’t make me do this I don’t want to hurt you. This isn’t like sparring, it isn’t a competition. I don’t think either of us are going to win so just give me the names so we can end this before...”

_Before someone gets hurt before I have to try and hurt you._

When Bren finally responds his voice comes through gritted teeth and he still won’t look up, but Astrid can see the tears dripping down his cheeks and onto his lap. “Even if I did give you the names right away that would not satisfy him, he wants to be satisfied by the results and I... I don’t want to fail.”

Her stomach drops the dread and the inevitability begin churning. “Bren I’m telling you this isn’t about failing or succeeding this isn't a game or a test it just it can’t be, it feels so _wrong_. If you give me the names then we’ll wait him out, we can think our way around this, I’m sure of it. There has to be another way...”

He laughs and its an awful sound. Grating and joyless. The room doesn't echo, sound isn't supposed to carry. “That is idiotic Astrid and you know it. Even I would not outright defy Master Ikithon, you and I know both know better than that.”

She knows he's right but her desperation is clouding her reasoning. “Then I’ll wait you out, you can't want to be here any more than I do, I’ll wait for you to give me the names or for Master Ikithon to end the game, but I won’t...”

“I don’t intend to lose Astrid.” He looks up, he’s still crying, but he hasn’t lost that infuriating spark of determination that she usually loves about him. “Whatever you think you _can_ do just do it...I-I won’t hold it against you, but I warn you I won’t give up the information easily.”

She shudders and numbly walks over to the table with the sharp instruments that are laid out waiting for her. 

_How? How can I do this?_

Astrid’s fingers slowly close around one of the knives and Bren looks away quickly. She hears him gag and choke, but the bile doesn’t spill over. She holds the knife over his open palm and with a quick movement she slices across the line between his middle finger and his thumb. He hisses in pain, but she barely hears him. She watches the blood seep from the shallow cut and drip from the knife she’s holding in _her_ hand. She stumbles back and falls over retching she doesn’t see Bren staring at the cut, the tears no longer running, his jaw set against the slight stinging that follows the initial shock of pain. He is terrified but desperately determined not to show it. When her stomach finishes emptying itself, she wipes her mouth and gets shakily up to her feet. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to ground herself. Then standing up she points the blade towards Bren. “Give...me...the names.”

He stares at the cut and doesn’t respond. Astrid drops the knife to the ground with a clatter and instead scoops a handful of bile from the ground and smears it down his arm, carefully and pointedly avoiding the cut palm. Bren immediately looks up at her crying out in disgust and disbelief. Her vomit stinks and now its on both of them. She does her best to wipe herself off with the sheet, but the smell continues to permeate the enclosed space. He is no longer avoiding her gaze and he looks as sick as she still feels. There are the beginnings of a slight flicker of fear behind the determination in those bright blue eyes. She swallows down her own horror before reaching towards her given tools and pushing forward. 

_If nothing else it’s a start_.

But towards what? 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its still dark...possibly darker

Eodwulf stood in the dark hall for a few minutes before throwing up a light cantrip and settling himself onto a makeshift seat made out of two of the travel bags stacked on top of each other. It felt like at least an hour went by before he begins to hear this horrible whining sound. It’s coming from beyond the door at the end of the hall and it starts and stops a few different times before Eodwulf realizes that a _person_ is making that sound. The growing uneasiness instantly becomes cold terror. The first cry is long and strained and then silence surrounds him again. Although, he can imagine that there is no respite of silence in the other rooms, but thankfully the heaving gasps that must come between the cries are not quite loud enough to permeate the surrounding stone walls. He counts the minutes of complete silence. Bren always knows how much time goes by what with that internal clock constantly going. Whereas he and Astrid have to consciously make an effort to mark the passage of time. Five minutes and twenty-two seconds pass before another sound cuts the silences. This time it can’t be mistaken for anything other than a scream. It manages to be both high-pitched and guttural, and if it wasn’t being caused by pain then he imagines that the sound itself would be painful. Ripping upward through gasping lungs and mercilessly wrenched between bloody gritted teeth. His overwrought imagination almost manages to make him lose concentration on the simple light cantrip. The light wavers in the hall and he hates that his first thought is.

_“At least Master Ikithon didn’t see that.”_

The next scream cuts off abruptly, he doesn't want to imagine what stopped it, instead he wonders if he can just cover his ears since there’s no one watching him? Maybe he can just block it all out? Maybe if he can’t hear it he can use his overactive imagination to pretend that the person making that noise isn’t one of his friends. It’s just some poor prisoner Master Ikithon is torturing for information. Yeah that’s it. In fact it’s probably a thief, or a murderer, or a _traitor_. They deserve it. Whoever is making that sound is a terrible person who has done terrible things and they deserve to suffer. No matter who is making that sound or why they deserve it. They have to. And as he pulls his hands away from his ears he becomes more certain that the familiar crack in the upper register of the scream isn’t really that familiar. And the sobbing shriek of frustration that follows another smothered whine doesn’t waver in a way he has heard before and recognizes.

Bren doesn’t scream and Astrid doesn’t cry. They never have and they never will. He believes it...he can make himself believe it.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

After what feels like hours, she backs away from the blood and the bile. The adrenaline is still coursing through her and she forgets to set down the bloody file. The crude piece of iron is still clinging to bits of keratin and jagged flesh. Clear evidence, that she’s far from being skilled with the tools at her disposal. Her head is pounding and ringing with the screams she caused its horrifying and exhilarating, there is such a dangerous mix of emotions and misfiring signals as she triumphantly calls through the barred window. “Friedrich, Karl, and Eileen!". A moment passes before she realizes she’s still holding still holding the file and immediately drops it. “Did you hear me? I got the names! Let me out!”

_Let us out._

Astrid is desperate to get out, to get clean and get away from whatever monster she created in this room. She doesn’t want to see Bren’s face, not now while she is slowly remembering that the mess in the chair is a person she loved, _loves,_ and not just a pawn in this sick game. Oh, gods she’s going to be sick _again_ if she’s left in here any longer with this stench, constantly reminding her of all the things she just did and for what? For approval? For praise? For learning? For _what_?

**“For what?”**

She doesn’t realize she spoke out loud until she hears two broken voices reply in tandem. “For the Empire.” Astrid turns to see Bren slumped forward as far as the restraints will allow but his head is crooked almost unnaturally to the side and one bright blue eye is still visible beneath his mess of red hair. The sound of the door finally creaking open is lost on her, all of her senses are engulfed by the sight of Bren heaving, _trembling_ , and bloodied knowing _she_ did that. But he is still looking at her through one eye while his cracked lips form the only phrase she still believes is true even after all this. _For the Empire._

“You’ve done adequately Miss Beck, for now, you are the victor. Tell me who should play next?” Without warning, Master Ikithon is standing over her and she knows that her answer cannot be _no. Stop. Please. No more._

“Eodwulf...give me the names; call in Eodwulf.”

He nods approvingly. “Very well, it is your privilege to choose”.The door closes and locks behind him. He leaves her there to clean up the mess she made. 

Astrid walks slowly towards Bren, eyes trained on the ground. Even in the dim light she catches the glint of the file she dropped, instantly the sick feeling becomes rage and she stops to shove the table over listening to the implements as they clatter on the stone floor. Almost like glass, but somehow offering infinitely more satisfaction. She crushes the barbed needles underneath her heel as if they were the villains, as if the knives and the scalpels had been the ones to possess her instead of the other way around. And finally...she looks over at Bren finally able to see a person in the chair and not an objective. Without speaking, her quick trembling fingers undo all of the restraints until she’s just kneeling there in the blood and the bile and the shards of metal looking up at him with no tears and no words. A minute passes where neither of them move, then suddenly her head is in his lap and his fingers are in her hair and his bloody nailless thumb is rubbing soothing circles against her temple while they both wait to hear the door swing open again knowing now _exactly_ what comes next. 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you want me to continue this pain fest it will only get more angsty


End file.
